Giants Without A Conscience
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“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” the young man muttered to himself as he stared at his reflection in a dark, empty alley. His hair was almost completely white now; it had been so for years and would continue to be so until he died or went insane—whichever came first.
He’d never seen anyone with such pure-white hair before, not even among the most powerful of mages on Earth. It looked like snow that hadn’t melted yet after an early spring storm. The color made him look older than he really was, but there wasn’t much else about him to make someone think otherwise.
He stood six feet tall and weighed less than two hundred pounds despite being over thirty years old. There were no muscles on his body aside from those needed for movement, which meant he could move quickly when necessary without looking bulky. That said, he didn’t have any special abilities either.
In fact, he couldn’t remember ever having used magic since coming to the world of Gielinor. All of his power seemed to come from within himself.
The young man’s face was handsome enough if you liked pale skin and blue eyes, though they did seem rather lifeless given what lay behind them. His nose appeared slightly crooked, giving him a somewhat mischievous appearance.
But while his features might suggest some sort of character, that wasn’t always true: sometimes he just felt blank inside. Like right now. Why am I here? What do I want out of life? Who cares anyway…
These thoughts ran through his mind repeatedly as he walked down the street toward the town square. He stopped outside one of the shops selling various items and took a deep breath. This is stupid. I don’t need to go back home tonight. If my parents find me gone tomorrow morning, then fine.
They’ll probably send somebody to pick up whatever’s left of me. And if they’re lucky, they won’t catch whoever killed me too. Just another night on the streets.
As he stepped into the shop, the owner gave him a suspicious glance but let him pass without asking questions. The young man paid for the item he wanted and headed off again, walking past several other shops along the way.
Some people watched him curiously as he passed by, wondering who he was and why he kept going straight ahead instead of turning around and heading back the way he’d come. Not that it mattered. No one knew anything about him except for his name—that was all anybody cared about.
When he reached the market area at the center of town, he saw something unusual: a large crowd gathered around the entrance of the local pub. Curious, he pushed his way to the front and found everyone staring at a group of men standing near the door.
One of these was wearing a hooded cloak, making it impossible to see his face clearly. Everyone assumed they were part of the notorious Thieves Guild, but nobody could say for sure. Even so, they were known throughout RuneScape for their ruthless methods.
A few minutes later, the cloaked figure entered the bar and began ordering drinks. Most customers ignored him, but others flocked to the bar to get closer to the strange personage. As soon as the bartender handed over the drink, the man pulled out a dagger hidden beneath his cloak and threw it onto the floor next to him. Then he turned to leave, leaving the tavern staff stunned and confused.
After watching the mysterious stranger walk away, one of the patrons decided to follow him. When he caught up with the man, however, the thief suddenly noticed him and called out. “Who are you following?”
“No one.” The man replied calmly.
They started talking, and the man revealed his identity as Garius, leader of the Thieves Guild. He asked where the man lived and how long he’d been living in Varrock. After hearing the answers, he told him to return to the guild house immediately. Once he arrived, the members of the thieves’ organization would decide whether to kill him or offer him membership.
The man agreed and returned to the guild hall. When he got there, he met a number of other newcomers who’d also recently joined the gang. These included a dwarf, a human, and a halfling, each of whom introduced themselves. While waiting for the meeting to begin, they chatted amongst themselves, getting to know one another better.
Eventually, Garius led them into a room filled with tables and chairs. He sat down at the head of the table and explained that the purpose of the gathering was to discuss the new recruits and assign them roles within the guild.
One of the men sitting across from him raised his hand. “What should we call ourselves? We’ve only just become a proper group, and we haven’t done anything together yet.”
Garius smiled. “We’re the Thieves’ Guild, of course. You can start calling yourselves ‘Thieves’ Guild members.'”
Another member spoke up. “But isn’t that kind of obvious? It doesn’t really mean much unless—”
“—we actually steal things,” finished Garius.
There was silence for a moment before someone else offered an idea. “Why not use our names? For example, I’m Jorgen, and this is my brother, Johan. So we could be—”
Johan interrupted. “I like the sound of that, but I think it would make more sense to give us a different name altogether.”
Everyone nodded in agreement. Soon after, they settled on using the word “thief” to describe their profession.
Once the discussion had ended, the members went back to work, preparing for their first job. They planned to break into the local bank to steal money, which they intended to spend on supplies. However, when they approached the building to carry out their plan, the guards spotted them and ordered them to stop.
A short time later, a messenger came running to tell them that the mayor was requesting their presence at City Hall.
This wasn’t surprising news; the thieves often visited the city’s leaders because they needed to ask permission to enter buildings or perform jobs inside the walls. But now the situation was complicated. If they left the guild house and traveled to the palace, they might never find their way back home.
On top of that, if they were discovered while breaking into the bank, they risked being arrested. And since they couldn’t afford jail terms, they didn’t have any choice but to go.
While discussing what to do, three of the members decided to stay behind to guard the guild house. Two of them headed off toward the palace, and the third stayed with the rest of the group. Just as they were about to leave, though, two more people appeared—one of whom was a familiar face.
It was the young mage known as Akash. He looked tired and worn-out, and he carried a heavy sack slung over his shoulder. His eyes were bloodshot, and his clothes reeked of smoke. He walked straight past the group without saying a single word, heading toward the city gates. In fact, he seemed so intent on reaching the exit that he almost ran right through the door.
When the others saw him coming, they quickly stood aside and let him pass. No sooner did he reach the gate than he disappeared beyond its threshold.
***
Alkosh’s journey took him deep into the wilderness surrounding Varrock. There, he encountered many dangers along the way: wild animals, fierce monsters, and even hostile humans who tried to rob him. Despite all these obstacles, he managed to survive by relying on his wits and skills.
Eventually, he made it to the outskirts of Falador, where he found a small cottage hidden among the trees. Inside, he discovered a chest full of gold coins. This discovery inspired him to continue traveling westward until eventually, he reached the village of Whiterun. Here, he spent some time exploring the area before setting up camp outside the town square.
He awoke early the next morning and set off again, walking north toward Skyrim. As he continued moving forward, the sun began to rise higher above the horizon. The light illuminated the landscape around him, revealing a beautiful vista of rolling hills covered in lush grass and colorful flowers.
Birds fluttered overhead, singing sweetly as they flew high into the sky. After a few hours of hiking, Alkosh finally arrived at a large lake surrounded by mountains. From here, he followed a path leading eastward, climbing ever upward. At last, he emerged onto a plateau overlooking a vast valley stretching far below.
As he gazed down upon this breathtaking view, the mage felt as if he were standing atop a mountain peak. To one side lay a thick forest, and farther away rose snowcapped peaks. He turned to the other direction and noticed a huge river flowing between low green hills.
Ahead of him stretched a long stretch of flat land dotted with farms and villages. Beyond those, he could see the white caps of the sea glimmering in the distance.
The sight of such beauty stirred something deep inside Alkosh. He knew then that this place must be called Skyrim, and he resolved to visit it someday soon. Then, satisfied that he’d seen enough, he returned to the edge of the cliff and started walking south once more.
After several days’ travel, Alkosh crossed paths with another traveler, a man dressed in black robes. When they met, the stranger fell silent immediately, staring intently at the image from head to toe. Finally, he said, “Are you a follower of the Dark Brotherhood?”
Without hesitation, Alkosh replied, “Yes.”
“Then why are you wearing red armor instead of dark blue?” asked the man.
Alkosh shrugged. “I’m not sure,” he admitted.
The man frowned. “You’re lying!” he exclaimed.
Alkosh glared angrily at the stranger. “What makes you think I am? Why don’t we settle this like men, rather than fighting each other?”
At this, the mysterious figure laughed. “Very well! We’ll fight. You win if you can defeat me in combat within ten seconds.”
Before Alkosh could respond, the man drew his sword and charged across the plain. For an instant, Alkosh hesitated, unsure how to react. Should he attack first, or should he wait for the enemy to make the first move? Before he had time to decide, however, the stranger attacked.
Instantly, he darted forward, swinging his blade in an arc aimed directly at Alkosh’s heart. The mage stepped backward, avoiding the blow, then leaped sideways to avoid another strike. The stranger moved with incredible speed and grace, dodging every possible attack and striking Alkosh repeatedly in quick succession.
Soon, both combatants were locked together, circling each other warily. It wasn’t long before their blades clashed again; but this time, Alkosh managed to deflect the attacker’s blows. They fought back and forth, trading attacks and counterattacks, neither gaining any advantage over the other.
Finally, Alkosh struck hard, knocking the man’s weapon out of his hand. But when he went after it, the stranger caught hold of Alkosh’s wrist and twisted it painfully. With a shout of pain, the mage released his grip on the hilt and stumbled backward.
Suddenly, he was hit from behind by the stranger, who knocked him to the ground. Now pinned beneath the man’s weight, Alkosh struggled desperately against his foe. In vain, he attempted to free himself, but the stranger held tight, holding him in place while he delivered a series of brutal kicks to his ribs and stomach.
Suddenly, Alkosh heard someone shouting nearby. Looking up, he saw two figures running toward them—one tall and muscular, the other short and stout. Both wore leather armor and carried swords.
“Stop!” cried the shorter man. “That’s my brother!”
“No!” shouted the taller one. “It is mine! Let go of him now!”
“Get out of the way!” yelled the stranger. “Or I will kill you both!”
With no choice, the smaller man backed away, allowing his older sibling to stand up. Seeing the battle raging around him, the younger man rushed to help his brother. Together, they forced the stranger to release Alkosh.
As the three combatants faced off once more, the stranger raised his sword high above his head. Without warning, he brought the blade crashing down onto Alkosh’s shoulder. The mage screamed in agony as he collapsed to the ground.
Seeing that he was defeated, the stranger ran away into the grassy plains without looking back. Although Alkosh tried to rise, he couldn’t manage even a single step. His right arm hung uselessly at his side, and blood trickled down his chest where the stranger’s sword had cut deeply into his flesh.
Gasping in pain, he crawled through the tall grass until he reached the spot where he’d left his horse. There, he slumped to the ground, unable to continue moving.
For many minutes, he remained there, motionless except for the occasional shudder caused by the searing heat of fresh blood dripping from his wound. Eventually, though, the burning sensation began to fade, leaving only a dull ache behind.
Still, he refused to get up. Instead, he pulled his cloak tightly about himself and waited patiently for death to come.
Eventually, he noticed something strange: the sky overhead seemed darker than usual. He looked up, confused, and realized that the sun hadn’t set yet. Then he remembered the stranger’s words: If you want your life saved, you must follow me.
Slowly, he stood up, shaking his head slightly to clear the dizziness from his mind. After a moment, he turned his gaze toward the south, where the stranger had vanished.
There, he saw a small group approaching, led by the same man who had challenged him earlier. At first, he thought nothing of it, assuming the man wanted revenge. However, as the strangers got closer, Alkosh became increasingly suspicious.
Their clothes were different from those worn by the others, and they walked with greater confidence and purpose than most of the villagers did. Finally, he recognized the leader of the group.
“Father?” gasped Alkosh, recognizing him immediately. “Why have you returned so soon? And what brings you here, of all places?”
His father stopped walking and glanced back at the village. When he spoke, his voice sounded strained.
“I came because I received word that you needed our aid,” said the old man. “And I am sorry if we startled you earlier.”
Alkosh nodded slowly, thinking carefully. Had his father really come just to see him? Or was this some sort of trap?
“What happened to you?” asked his father. “Your wounds are serious. You cannot travel like that, not unless you wish to die quickly.”
The young mage didn’t reply. Instead, he gazed intently at his father, trying to read his expression. It took several moments before he understood why his father had chosen to return early.
“You’re afraid,” whispered Alkosh softly. “Aren’t you?”
“Afraid?” repeated his father. “Of course I’m afraid. What else could I be?”
He paused for a moment, then continued. “But I also know how dangerous these lands can be. Even the best-trained warriors would find it difficult to survive alone. That is why we decided to leave when we did.
We knew that if any harm should happen to us while traveling together, it might cause problems between you and your mother. So instead, we chose to separate, hoping that you wouldn’t blame her too much. But now…”
A look of sadness passed over his face.
“Now, she has gone missing. She may still be alive, but we don’t dare wait anymore. Not after so long. Forgive me, son, but I need your help. Will you join me on my quest?”
The End